That could have been worse, actually

There is a Tall Bookshelf in the bedroom, that overlooks the bed. Historically, this is a favorite cat napping spot, even unto the Old Digs. Often, it’s Scrabble up there, though Belle also enjoys the aspect. Trooper seems to have given it over in favor of the new chest of drawers, where it’s just him and my jewelry box; and Sprite prefers the bed itself.
As may be.
Now, this morning,  I was napping in the bed, with Sprite on my stomach; Trooper on the chest; Belle atop the bookcase. Scrabble came into the room, jumped to the headboard (a wide ledge, also, perhaps, meant to be a bookshelf, but which is in reality the Path to the Tall Bookshelf), and made for the Tall Bookshelf with businesslike little steps, which echoed into the bed, and roused me.
I saw Scrabble about to leap to the top of the Tall Bookshelf. I saw Belle asleep, o! so asleep, on the Tall Bookshelf, and I said to Scrabble — “Don’t do it!”
She’s a cat. Did she listen to me?
She makes her jump, I hold my breath, anticipating Screams of Outrage, and cat bodies tumbling from on high.
And Scrabble lands — on top of Belle, there being no other place TO land.
Belle wakes up, blinking. And for a few seconds they just. . .looked. . .at each other, kind of like, Wait! What’re we supposed to do now?
Belle recovered herself first; she opened her mouth, and — made a noise. Not even a hiss, just a kind of loud poof!
This got Scrabble back on script, and she jumped down to the headboard, stomped away, jumped to the floor, and exited the room.
All remaining in the bedroom when back to sleep.

In which we have arrived

So, here we are at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, having been ably shifted by the efficient and good-natured crew from J. Goodwin Enterprises, who exclaimed over and over again about what a pretty house and yellow!  Yellow looked so nice, and bright (does no one have yellow rooms in Maine?)  The crew having got us out of the old digs and into the new in record time, we were in good time to pick the cats up from their day at the spa.

We got all four carriers into the living room at the same time, and opened the gates so that the cats could emerge together and commence exploring their exciting! new! environs!

Belle and Sprite immediately dove under the sofa.  Trooper made a run for the cellar door, which is in approximately the same location in this house as the last.  Scrabble. . .Scrabble glanced about her, muttered something and proceeded to  take the Grand Tour — over and over again, as if memorizing the Location of Everything  (which is going to keep her busy for a while, as the Location of Everything is in a state so fluid it puts fluids to the blush).

A little later in the evening, Belle joined Scrabble in her walking about (this house is in the shape of a lopsided U, with Steve’s office at the upper end of the tall arm, and my office at the upper end of the shorter arm, so there’s plenty of hallway to cover, not to mention the rooms themselves).

Later in the evening, as we were sharing our first glass of wine in the New Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, Princess Jasmine Sprite joined us and mounted the Cat Castle, from whence she frowningly surveyed her new domain.

Trooper did not join us.  A short trip down to the basement discovered him under the stair, which didn’t seem alarming, so we left him to it, and retired.

He and Belle both joined us in bed sometime during the night, and Scrabble checked in a couple times.  Sprite was not in evidence.  This morning, we found out why.

Short form is that she had found an ingress from the Goblin Kingdom in! our! basement!  Behind! the! chimney! And! the! water! heater! And. . .AND?

She’d gotten stuck.

Steve and I (by which I of course mean Steve) took down a plywood wall in the new house today instead of unpacking, and then we gave the valiant princess a bath to get (some) of the ashes out of her fur.  She is now resting in what has become known as The Boy’s Bathroom, and we hope she’ll be feeling more the thing tomorrow.

In the meantime, we placed a call to our former neighbor, a contractor, and he will be walling off the road to the Goblin Kingdom, and also the chimney and the water heater.  A paw-proof door will be involved.

Promoting home improvements already.  What workers these cats are!

Mother told me, yes, she told me, I’d meet girls like you

So, of course Monday was Belle’s birthday.  Her eighth birthday, so you see that she is, indeed, a Cat of Substance.  Festivities were scheduled, and everyone made merry, but not too merry, as it would have been a terrible thing indeed to wake the Birthday Girl.

The new remote starter has been installed in the car, and has already been useful, so that.

And!  Steve and I have discovered that Fifth of Five is rather more broken than we had thought, which would be why it just lies there, like a unrisen lump of dough, no matter how much we poke at it.  And this means that — we need to start over.  This is not a step that we take lightly, and it’s certainly not the news I wanted to take to Madame, but sometimes, there are no fixes.  So, we’re taking a small breather, and wading in again.

In other news, Maine is melting.  It was 60 degrees today, on February 21, and the streets ran with mud.  Tomorrow, it will be cooler, and again on Friday, with the difference being that Friday, it will rain.

I think winter may be over.

Here’s a photo from Belle’s Birthday Festivities:

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Cheap Trick, “Surrender.”  Here’s your link.


Oh, I’m in love with the janitor’s boy; and the janitor’s boy loves me

So, it’s been an exciting couple of days here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

Yesterday, of course, was Sprite’s visit to the vet; always an energizing time.  Sprite had previously been able to call in enough bad weather to twice call for a cancellation of this annual event, but yesterday, her luck ran out.  She was outfitted in her harness and glittery leash, and her ladybug-print bib and off we went.  After a first, obligatory shout-out to the neighborhood that she was being kidnapped, and a few energetic curses as we started up, she settled down on my lap, and seemed to resign herself to her fate.  Steve had turned on the classic rock station — Sprite being partial to classic rock — and that seemed to soothe her somewhat.

The vet pronounced her in good health, and good fur, delivered the required shots and home we came, where Sprite retired to the so-called “medium dog bed” under Steve’s desk for a long and restorative nap.

This morning, she’s still a little subdued, and, after a mouthful of breakfast, has again retired under Steve’s desk for another nap.

I did get together the paperwork, and mailed my check and registration form to the National Carousel Association’s annual convention.  I also tried to call the convention hotel to reserve a room, the information in the packet being that rooms are limited and go fast — well, there was no try about it — I did call, as instructed.  Predictably, all operators were busy, and I spent about eight minutes on hold, listening to the robot telling me that I really could do all necessary business on the website or through the Marriott app.  I held on, though, and finally got a click, and the tail end of an answering machine message which stated that it could not accept any more messages — whereupon, the call was disconnected.

Um, yeah.

So, I’ll try to call again today, though the Main Adventure on today’s schedule is for me to go down to Charlie’s Subaru and have them install a remote starter in the Forester.  This operation will take approximately 2 hours, so I guess I’ll have the courtesy van take me over to Barnes and Noble, which is far more entertaining than Charlie’s waiting room.

What else?  I’m sure there was — Oh.  There are two additional events in motion at the moment, which created much excitement for Steve and me. But!

I can’t talk about them yet.

Oh, but I can tell you that the Dyson — remember the Dyson? that had to be sent away via UPS for repair last Friday? — the Dyson, it says here, has been repaired and will be home today!

And if that isn’t exciting, I don’t know what is.

Everybody have a good day.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Nathalia Crane, “The Janitor’s Boy.”  Here’s a link.  Oh, and here’s another — from Natalie Merchant.

Today’s the big day

Today, December 15, is the eighth birthday of Kelimcoons Sooper Trooper. We usually call him Trooper, but for his birthday, he gets the Whole Formal, at least once.  Festivities are planned throughout the day.  The sun has obligingly come out, and is puddling nicely in the napping spots.  We also have a Flying Mouse Competition planned for later in the day, and a grooming session.  We will also have Jazz on Pandora.  Trooper is partial to Jazz.

Today, December 15, is also the day that “Block Party” (collaborative effort number 82 by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller) will be published to, around noonish US Eastern Time.

We’ll obviously be very busy here with the Natal Day Festivities, so feel free to sing out when you see the story come up.

Here’s a picture of the Birthday Cat, wondering what all the fuss is about.

Oh, baby you’re the only thing in this whole world that’s pure and good and right

So, last night, just as we were going to bed, we had a bat invasion.  Followed a fun-filled 45 minutes while we convinced the coon cats that it was not their bat, but our bat; got Scrabble back from the Big Dark Outside, when she strolled while we were holding the door open for the bat to exit; and last but not least, I executed a net-throw that would have won applause in any gladiatorial display, and brought the bat down mid-flight, into the shopping bag that Steve was holding ready.

Yes, sometimes we really are that good.  The “net” by the way, was a mosquito net meant to be worn over a hat.  Here’s a picture.

The bat was taken outside and released, whereupon we went to bed, but the coon cats did not, choosing instead to prowl the house, looking for their bat.


As of this morning, Sleeping with the Enemy: Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 22, by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller is available in paper from Amazon only.  Here’s your link.

I will be converting the rest of the chapbooks as I have time and energy.  Nothing like a firm schedule, am I right?

As of this writing, in addition to Sleeping. . .  Change Management: Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 23and Due Diligence: Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 24 are also available in digital and paper editions.

And, now, having goofed off much of the morning; it’s time to go to work.

See you on the flip-side.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by — of course! — Meatloaf, “Bat out of Hell.”  Here’s your link.

The Power of Purr

Today, with the exception of needing to go to the doctor for a follow-up exam this afternoon, is a Work Day, and I will be shutting down the internets very soon.
I do want to mention, for the people who are here for the cats…the marvelous healing power of purrs.
At the ER Monday night, I was given a shot of high-test ibuprofen, and given a muscle-relaxant in pill form to take before I went to bed. In theory, this was to help me sleep through the night.
In fact, it helped me sleep for about four hours, when the pain woke me again and I lay in bed counting the hours until CVS opened and I — well, actually, Steve — could go into town and get the prescriptions filled. I twisted and turned and couldn’t find any position that provided relief — for an hour or so by the clock on the ceiling.
About 4 am, I decided that, if I started walking, I could be in Waterville when CVS opened, Belle jumped up to the foot of the bed, STOMPED up until she was next to me, sat down and HUFFED. It really was very clearly, “What on earth is the matter with you, stupid kitten?” — and she started to purr.
“It won’t work,” I told her. Whereupon she blinked at me, threw herself against my chest (I was laying on my side) and brought up the Big, Deep, Rough purrs from ‘way down at the bottom of the Purr Box. I closed my eyes, still convinced that it wasn’t going to work. . .
And woke up at 9 am with my back hurting, but somewhat less.
The rest of Tuesday was spent with heating pad on/heating pad off, listening to Pandora and dozing. Trooper took day-shift, with Sprite filling in for necessary breaks. Yesterday, all was very nearly back to normal, though Trooper and Belle still hung close, and today, as previously suggested is a work day.
As I type, Belle is in the wooden basket on my desk, and Trooper is sitting next to the keyboard, purring and aiming head-butts at my chin.
Everybody have a good day.

Moving right along

OK!  Due Diligence: Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 24 by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller is available from most on-line retailers, and is publishing to the rest.  It was, for a couple days, a Number One Amazon Bestseller, and has fallen today to Number Three.  It has also garnered a surprising number of reviews —  thanks to everyone who has taken the time!

Those who are just arriving at the party — there’s room for your review, too; if you are so moved.

Because there were So Very Many requests, Due Diligence will also, soon now, be available in paper, from Amazon.  The reason it will not be available REALsoonnow, is that I made an error and have to fix it, as soon as Amazon stops doing something else that Amazon is doing with the file.  O! Brave New World, that hath such golems in it!

In other news, there’s a small army of ducks between me and the work I really need to be doing, here, and the coon cats are not really much into duck hunting.  Their advice is to curl up on the couch with a book and let the coon cats camouflage me as a Big Pile of Coon Cats.  This is, I note, often their advice.

And that?  Is all the news that’s fit to print.

. . .I do believe that I need more coffee. . .


It was Gatlinburg, in mid-July…

Well, no.  Not quite mid-July, but we’ll get there.  We’ll get there.

Yesterday, was ant-murdering day.  Maybe every third summer one of the ant colonies will get the bright idea to expand supply lines and send a foraging force into the kitchen, whereupon we enter battle, and prevail, eventually.  It would be tempting to believe that, this year, we really did vanquish the foragers in our first, decisive, victory, but that’s not really the way these things have worked in the past.  What will happen is that they’ll withdraw, regroup and try again.  So, we await the dropping of the other shoe.

In the meantime, and in-between it all, we’ve been making plans for our pilgrimage West at the end of July.  As I may have mentioned once or twice, Steve and I will be Writer Guests of Honor at Confluence, in Pittsburgh during the first weekend in August. This will be our last convention appearance of 2017, so if you live near Pittsburgh, this is your call to seize the day.  Hope to see you there!

After the con, we are committed to coming home the long way, so that I might, at my advanced age, for the first time see Niagara Falls, and also so we might seek out and be pleased by the various carousels which can — and will! — be found along our route.

Among other things, of course this means buying clothes.  I have therefore purchased, on sale, one! more! pair! of Dry-on-the-fly cargo pants perfect for summer wear and travel.  I have also purchased the Russian sailor’s shirt from Peterman’s, which I have looked at with longing for years.  I’m calling it an early birthday present from me to me.

For those who were looking for an update to our Patreon page this weekend — I do apologize.  Life, and words that must be written, derailed my good intentions.  Soon, I promise. . .

Today, I’m doing laundry.  The temperature is warm enough to melt coon cats, though with enough of a breeze that we have opted for fans rather than bring the A/C online.

And, that’s all I’ve got, except that I’d better get back to work if I want to finish writing this section today.

Why, look!  Here are two melted coon cats, right here!

Melted Belle

Melted Sprite

Almost forgot:  Today’s blog post title brought to you by Johnnie Cash, “A Boy Named Sue.”  Here’s your link.

Mental Health Day

People have been behaving badly on the internet.  What a surprise.

I’m reminded of a story I read once, true or not, who knows, which was to the effect that, when switchboards first became a Thing, the newly-organized phone company had initially hired boys as operators, because — cheap labor.  Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that something about having all that access acted on boys like catnip on cats; they began pranking callers, and just in general behaving badly.  Couldn’t seem to help themselves, really, poor things.  So the phone companies fired the boy operators and hired women, because — cheap labor.  And that worked out much better for all concerned.

Personally, I think there’s a genetic disposition, a kind of allergy to electrons, so that when people with this allergy are exposed to this allergen, they behave as badly as possible.  Remove the electrons, and they revert to being perfectly innocuous and civilized members of society.


In other news, I’ve taken up meditation, as part of my project to avoid a Major Depressive Incident, such as I experienced last year.  As we all know, depression makes us stupid, and I’m still finding errors that I made during the last (really bad, by my standards; maybe one of the Biggest since records started to be kept, some 40 years ago) — some serious, but none, thank ghod, fatal, though one was particularly scary.  So, anyway, despite a lifetime of crash-burn-rise-up-eventually-slighty-sooty, I’m now trying to alter the pattern, and to be proactive.  Which means, yes, meditation, and also ruthlessly slashing toxic — and even perennially irritating — people out of my life.

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, expect to see me less.  I’ll try to pick back up posting more regularly here (this blog is mirrored at Eagles Over the Kennebec).  I love you all, but — survival is important to the appearance of more stories.

So, that.

Yesterday, Steve and I took a mental health day.  We went down to Old Orchard Beach, where it was foggy and windy(!) and too chilly to sit on the beach and read, which had been my Plan A.  We did a short beach walk, then went down to Wells, where it was also foggy and windy(!), and stood around on the public landing, watching the kites, and Steve took pictures with his new camera.

After, we crossed over to Sanford, and stopped for lunch at the Cockpit Cafe at the airport.  And there we saw George W. Bush arrive, and board the (Embraer Legacy twin-jet) plane that had been waiting for him.

On the way home from Sanford, we made one more ocean stop — at Pine Point — and then came home, where I continued the electron-free theme (not totally true, since I’m reading an ebook), until it was time for the evening meal, a glass of wine and a chapter read outloud from The Cat Who Saw Red (yeah, it’s a re-read; we decided to do the Cat Who’s in order to follow Qwilleran’s arc).

This morning, I baked peasant olive bread while Steve went to cardio-gym, and also figured out the penultimate scene in the cheater story.

I may not have reported here that I bought myself a chair side table (a so-called C-table) for the reading corner.

Here are some pictures:

This first was taken when the table came home. At the time the photo was snapped, it had been in the house for less than five minutes:

This is what the table looks like, unadorned:

And here is Sprite, reasserting her claim: